Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Denny set his hand on my thigh, wordlessly anchoring me in place. His palm was big and warm, like a bear paw—the weight and heat of it burrowing under my skin. He squeezed my quad, flexing his fingers one by one as if he were playing the fucking piano as his gaze drifted to my crotch.
I waited for him to make a move.
And waited.
And just when I thought this was as far as he wanted to go, Denny pushed me flat on my back and dove on top of me.
His kiss was greedy and reckless. Our tongues dueled and found rhythm in the suggestive tilt and sway of our hips. Just like that we were off to the races again, shedding clothing as we explored the finer parts of this new arrangement.
To be perfectly honest, I didn’t think either of us knew the rules, but that was okay. This was a fuck-buddy situation. We weren’t going to become real friends. We were shamelessly going to be using each other for our own gain—and for now, that was all the clarity we needed.
7
DENNY
Make a left onto Interstate 70.
I doubled-checked Siri’s route on the console screen, veering right as an incoming call buzzed in.
“Trinsky. What’s up?” I answered.
“Yo, you’re coming tonight.”
“Where?”
“To Meyer’s barbecue. I’ll pick you up at five.”
I switched lanes for no real reason. “Uh…I can’t—”
“You cannot bail,” he insisted. “You’re the newbie, the rookie, the baby. As your older, wiser mentor, you gotta listen up and go to this one. Meyer’s wife is an awesome cook. She makes killer ribs and potato salads and shit. You’ll love it. Oh, and she has a few very nice, very single friends and—oh, shit. My bad. Don’t tell Mary-Kate. She’ll think I’m a dick. And I want us to be buds when I see her this summer.”
I was used to Trinsky’s bulldozer, rapid-fire monologues now. No doubt we got along so well because we were complete opposites. I was quiet, and he never shut the fuck up. Sometimes I just nodded and grunted till he got tired of the sound of his own voice. But every once in a while, he stumped me.
“Huh?”
“Yeah, didn’t I tell you I’m doing that camp with you? Vinnie Kiminski called me, man! Can you fuckin’ believe it? I’m stoked. I’ve never done the Elmwood camp. I feel like the only one in the league who hasn’t gotten the invite. That’s totally on Jake fuckin’ Milligan. That turd hates me.”
True. Jake did kind of hate Trinsky, but I doubted he’d blackballed him from coaching summer camp. I was just surprised Trinsky was interested at all. He was a California boy and a surfer off-season and…okay, fine. I wasn’t sure I liked the idea of a teammate who was also a friend hanging out in Elmwood this summer. I couldn’t even verbalize why.
“That’s cool,” I said, flexing my fingers on the steering wheel.
“I can only do it for a couple of weeks at the end of summer, but it’ll be fun. Oh, and I may need a place to crash. We can talk deets later. Remember…I’m picking you up at five tonight. Later, man.”
I sighed heavily. No, I didn’t want to go to a team barbecue, and I definitely didn’t want to think of Trinsky in my guest bedroom. One caused immediate social anxiety and the other, future anxiety and general unease.
I blasted some metal music to drown my thoughts. I didn’t want to think, period. If I did, I’d wonder what the fuck I was doing. So I hummed loudly, beating my thumbs erratically on the wheel and the dashboard the way I did when the ghosts sat with me for too long.
The goal was neutrality. No unwelcome emotions, no recriminations. Just static.
I’d almost achieved my desired detached mindset, but the familiar billboard cresting the hillside in the distance fucked me up. No shit. My mouth watered on cue, same as always, but different.
The cowboy wasn’t a mystery anymore. He was a flesh and blood, sexy man. Now that I knew what it felt like to touch him, I needed more. Hank’s hands on me, his body pressed to mine, his mouth on my cock…
Maybe it wasn’t smart and maybe I shouldn’t be on this road, but I wasn’t turning around now. I was going to let it happen. Zero expectations—just a simple give-and-take arrangement.
At least that was the idea. It had been two weeks since we’d agreed to try this “exchange of favors,” but I didn’t have anything new to report. I’d been on the road or at practice, and Hank had been busy at the mill. We’d texted a few times, and that had felt more like an awkward schedule sync than sexy correspondence.
Hank told me he’d missed Grams at the bakery, and I gave him permission to avoid her. He congratulated me on my hat trick in Edmonton, and I thanked him…after staring at my cell, wondering what I could add that wouldn’t seem too enthusiastic.